


Damned

by artemis1967



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Sam Winchester, Dark Dean Winchester, Dubious Consent, Episode: s10e19 - The Werther Project, M/M, Mark of Cain (Supernatural), Rough Sex, Top Dean Winchester, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:42:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26545426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemis1967/pseuds/artemis1967
Summary: The Mark of Cain affects Dean to the point where he needs relief from sex, and Sam will do anything for his brother.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 248





	Damned

With his heart pounding in his chest, he runs as fast as he can when he gets out of the car because what he least needs now is Dean hunting alone, not while his brother exudes violence and volatility.

That damn Mark.

Dean looks fine, but his relief lasts until he notices the blood.

"Dean!"

"Hey." Dean's whole face lights up.

"Hey. What happened? What is this?"

"I know, right? Six vamps. Solo. I think that's gotta be a personal best."

"You couldn't have waited?"

"For what?"

"For what?" Sam opens his arms in his indignation, his right hand tightening on the machete handle he carries.

"Oh, come on, man. I can handle it. I did handle it."

"What if you couldn't?"

"But I did. It's done."

Sam knows Dean can now handle six vampires alone, and even more, he suspects. His greatest fear, deep down, is that his brother can't stop.

Dean's countenance changes suddenly. Pride in his successful hunt is replaced by something predatory, which makes Sam's stomach tighten. Ravenous eyes devour Sam's body, and he feels uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

"Dean?"

The moment Sam sees the bulge in Dean's pants, his mouth goes dry.

"You don't understand what it's like, Sammy."

One step towards him and Sam wants to take a step back in reaction. He can't, though. Another step and Sam wonders if this is how a prey feels, paralyzed by the imminence of the attack. Dean invades his personal space then, the smell of blood hitting Sam's nose, but he knows that the blood is not Dean's.

A bloody hand grabs a handful of his hair, and he is being kissed in the next second.

What the hell?

His initial resistance breaks under the insistent tongue, and the machete falls to the ground. Closing his eyes, he lets Dean map every corner of his mouth, not knowing what to feel, disgust or pleasure. But a hand goes to his ass, squeezing, and it's like a bucket of ice falling on him.

This is so wrong.

His hands go to Dean's chest and he pushes with all his force, making his brother take two steps away.

"What fuck are you doing? We are brothers."

Confusion gives way to anger in the bright green eyes.

"It's the only way I can take the edge off. And if you don't give it to me, I'm gonna find someone who will."

The intent in his brother's tone of voice is real, so real that it makes the hairs on Sam's arms stand up.

It's no secret that Dean likes sex—a lot, by the way—but it was all about exalting his performance in bed. That guy deliberately massaging a bloody hand over the volume stuck in jeans isn't the brother Sam knows.

Dean looks feverish even in the cold air with his red cheeks and glassy eyes.

Sam doesn't want to do this—he already feels dirty enough without one more sin on his long list—but the Mark on Dean's arm seems to shine under his clothes. And images of girls struggling under Dean's weight come to his mind, the certainty that his bother will fuck someone without consent more real with every second. Besides, it's not just other people's lives in danger here, considering that Dean is also not safe carrying that Mark on his arm.

Trying to keep his hands from shaking, Sam comes to the realization that if anyone can do this it's him. And despite all the accusations he's heard from Dean before, he will do whatever it takes for his big brother.

A nod is all the permission he can give. He doesn't dare to move, hardly dare breathe, frozen to the spot. Not for long, though, since his personal space is invaded again, and he is maneuvered until his back hits a hard surface.

"Why don't we do this in a cleaner place, Dean?"

There are bodies of vampires and blood all over the place, not to mention the accumulated dust and strange stains everywhere.

"Such an anal cunt, Sam! What part of 'I can't stop it' you don't understand?"

His head is pulled for another kiss and this time Sam tastes blood. He does his best not to think about the origin of that, preferring to focus on the heat emanating from Dean's groin against him. It's the closest Sam has ever been to another man's groin and isn't as strange as he thought it would be.

Dean goes to his neck, and his brother's stubble is so different on his skin. There is no long hair, no delicacy in the kisses and bites. Equally strange is the fact that he is being dominated instead of dominating.

"What you don't know." It comes out more like a snarl. "It's that I always wanted to fuck you."

Hips grind against him, a hand grabs his ass, and Sam is sure his neck will be decorated with stubble burn and hickeys later. So, it's understandable it takes Sam's brain a few seconds to understand Dean's words.

"Wha-at?"

"One day I realized what I wanted. It was right after his 17th birthday."

Thanks to Sam's baggy pants, Dean finds enough space for his hand, and for the first time in his life, someone other than him touches his hole. It sends lust rocketing up his spine, and he doesn't understand his body's reaction at all.

"You left the damn bathroom door open, and the shower had no curtain. I saw the water falling on your skin, which made me realize you were a man and one of the most attractive by the way. I was hard in seconds and touched myself while watching you."

Everything Dean is saying is a revelation for him, just as it's the finger forcing its way into his hole. And his cock filling inside his pants is a surprise for him, albeit a shameful one.

His face heats up when his brother's familiar eyes stare at him.

"But all went to hell fast. Dad caught me. But he arranged a fake hunt to get me away from you, and that same night I had the beating of my life. It wasn't a bar fight, as I told you."

Sam remembers the injuries and how Dean didn't let him touch him. The rejection hurt so much at the time, but he soon went to Stanford and left everything behind.

A hand holds Sam's jaw, the smell of blood still strong.

"And after I picked you up at Stanford, I never had enough balls to act. But I feel free now, and nothing will stop me."

Not knowing what to do with such a revelation, Sam just submits, leaving Dean to do whatever he wants with him.

The finger comes out and leaves Sam wanting more. Next, there's the almost ghostly sensation of fingers on his face and lips.

"You have no idea, Sammy," Dean says in a voice dripping with lust.

When the knife appears before Sam's eyes, his stomach clenches. He doesn't know what to expect from his brother. Not anymore. His hesitation must be visible because Dean laughs, "Don't worry, Sam." He rubs his cock against Sam's groin. "I'm gonna take care of you, and in the best possible way."

Following that, Sam finds himself facing the wall, and the ease with which this happens should be humiliating, but it's exciting, much to his shame.

The damn wall exhales something old, and Sam doesn't even want to think about the unhealthy microorganisms in the decadent environment surrounding them. But Dean resumes his monologue, reminding Sam of his aching cock trapped in his pants.

"Even after Dad's beating, all I could think about was that perky ass and how it would feel around my cock."

Heat emanates from his brother's erection rubbing against Sam's ass, despite layers of clothing separating the contact between their skins. A wave of desire flows through him, but the solid body disappears from his back, and only in the last second he manages to avoid a pathetic groan of frustration. Then the hem of his pants is stretched, and he just understands when he feels the fabric covering his right leg opening to expose his skin to the cold. Dean's knife just stops at the waistband of his pants, which doesn't take long to be cut either. Without the support that held it around Sam's waist, his pants—or what's left of it—fall in a pile on his left foot. The jacket is also taken from him.

"I'm going to freeze like this, Dean," he complains.

The heat comes back, making the presence of Dean's member against his ass much more evident, just as scary.

"You won't." Hands cover his buttocks. "I'm gonna keep you warm."

God, Dean is so hot between his buttocks, even over the thin cotton fabric of his underwear.

"So firm, Sam. All those stupid exercises were useful, after all."

Fingers touch his waist, the sound of fabric tearing reaches his ears, and the last barrier falls.

A whistle and cold is the last thing on Sam's mind when there is no barrier between Dean's fingers and his skin. His cock is leaking under his shirt and forming wet spots.

"More pretty than before, Sammy, all grown up. And everything is mine."

Touches that trace every inch. Touches that expose the most intimate part of him.

"Dean!" He screams, surprised at the feeling of a tongue at his entrance. It feels so good and so different from anything he's ever experienced before. His legs start shaking, but the cold has nothing to do with it, and he doesn't want to think about how wrong it is. He also avoids thinking about the consequences of what is happening in this decadent place surrounded by death. And it's ironic when all he wants is to save lives.

There are no choices here, but choices aren't always options in his life anyway. Maybe free will is not for him after all. Aware of this more than ever now, he lets himself go, closing his eyes and getting lost in new sensations even when blame still eats his insides because he's not supposed to like this; saving innocent lives and helping Dean are the only things that matter or that should matter.

A wet finger replaces the tongue and pressure is all he feels in principle. Another finger joins the first seconds later, too fast for Sam's comfort, but his body adjusts, and the pain quickly subsides.

With his hands on the wall, he keeps his eyes closed, allowing the illusion that it is less real this way.

Something hot and slick gets between his asscheeks, nothing like fingers, and he almost sobs for what is happening. They can never go back, not after this.

Pressure.

Burn.

A few inches and he tries to relax his muscles to allow the invasion. Something seems to give, and he feels Dean's groin touch his ass. His brother is entirely inside him, forcing his body to stretch in a new impossible way. But brothers shouldn't be doing this.

"Oh, God!" It is a lament and a request for forgiveness for a God who long ago gave up on humanity.

"Don't forget that God created the fucking Mark, Sam. Perhaps the corruption it causes was his own work," Dean's voice is strained.

The first impulse brings only pain to him. Sam's breath is heavy in the cold night air. Relief comes when Dean pulls out of him completely, which doesn't last because he's impaled again.

"So, the best thing to do is to consider this as sacred."

"None of this is sacred, as much as you want to believe otherwise." Sam opens his eyes and looks over his shoulder at Dean, whose face is showing only pleasure.

"It doesn't matter to me. Hell is my final destination anyway," he smirks while starts a brutal rhythm even when Sam's virgin ass is not ready to be fucked like this.

Sam faces the wall again, preferring to believe that the Mark is solely responsible for this, since the older brother he's known for his entire life cannot want anything so perverted.

A kick in his right boot causes Sam to spread his legs wider and inevitably stretch his ass out.

"Holy shit! I would've fucked you before if I knew you would take it so well."

Dean's hands are on his groin, fingers touching pubic hair, but his half-erect cock remains ignored. Sparks of pleasure appear with the new angle, though.

Sam presses his face against the wall, letting Dean have whatever he needs, allowing Dean to condemn his already impure soul.

Pain or pleasure, pain and pleasure, he can't even tell the difference.

Sin.

Damnation.

Do not think. Just let go. The words repeat in his mind.

Pleasure takes over at some point, and soon his body wants its release. He pushes against Dean's thrusts. His heart rate accelerates even more, every fucking muscle in his body flexes and strains.

"Fuck-fu-" Sam's voice comes out more like a lament.

Finally, increasing tension and sudden relief, pelvic contractions and orgasm have never been more satisfying before.

Untouched.

Impure.

Sam is hopelessly condemned.

One minute he is panting and trying to catch his breath and the next hands move his body. The force of the impact against his back will leave bruises.

Eyes capable of stripping Sam's soul are wild, almost feral.

He is lifted off the ground and impaled again on the big member. Too shocked to do anything, his arms and legs wrap around the only support they find, Dean's body.

"It looks like I’m not the only sinner here, you arrogant hypocrite," Dean accuses.

His back rubs against the wall with each impulse, and Sam is grateful he still has his plaid shirt on.

"All that reluctance when you're loving it as much as I am."

The hands on his buttocks are hot. He's lifted and lowered on Dean's cock like a girl and not the man over 200 pounds that he is. It's exciting in a strange way, although his biggest concern should be Dean's unusual strength.

"So, stop looking at me like I'm some sort of a diseased killer puppy and just let it happen. We deserve it," Dean growls, breath harsh against his ear, and fuck, it pulls another orgasm out of Sam.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm talking about, Sammy." His brother sounds happy now.

Perhaps the damn Mark is under Dean's control again, and Sam can breathe easily for the moment. He loses track of time and perception only comes back when he's being deposited on his feet once more, but his legs can't hold him. His hands find Dean's jacket then, at the same time as an arm wraps around his waist and prevents him from an undignified encounter with the dirty ground.

Something starts to drip between his buttocks, no matter how much he tries to stop it. Dean succeeded in taking the edge off apparently.

His body aches in ways he never imagined before, and what should be disgusting is somehow comforting. Someone's life was saved, and Sam was able to give his brother what he needed. A small victory, yet a victory.

"You know what, man? I'm sweaty, and I'm covered in vamp juice. I'd like to get back to the Bunker, get my buzz on, and, uh, you know, pass out watching Speed 2 – Cruise Control. We cool?"

Sam can just get out a weak 'cool' before his right arm is placed on Dean's shoulders as he is helped up to the Impala.

Finding the codex has never felt more essential than it does now so that Rowena can translate the Book of the Damned and find a cure for the Mark of Cain.

Until then, Sam knows this is going to happen again, but he'll give in every time Dean needs him. He won't think about it, won't shatter into a million pieces because survival is something he can fight for, even if his damnation is inevitable.


End file.
